


I. O. U.

by toffeehyuck



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alpha Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Boypussy, Dom Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung, Explicit Sexual Content, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung &; Mark Lee Are Siblings, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan & Mark Lee Are Best Friends, M/M, Masturbation, Omega Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Sex Toys, Sub Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Vaginal Fingering, omegas have vaginas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:27:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27466417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toffeehyuck/pseuds/toffeehyuck
Summary: Haechan goes quiet again, just gently tugging and pulling on the black strands tangled in his fingers. Doyoung has nothing else to say, all his cards are on the table, the ball isn’t in his court, and the final decision isn’t his. If Haechan says no, they ignore this, pretend it never happened, if he says yes. . .“M’kay -- yeah, yeah touch me.”***Or Doyoung makes an offer that Haechan can't refuse.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 232





	1. Indecent Proposal #1: Ride My Fingers?

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is just about dohyuck figuring out how they work together and other people figuring out how they work together.

🍓

Every Sunday Doyoung gets a text message from his mother saying some variation of, "check on your brother." At first he used to argue, respond with some pissy comment about Mark being a grown ass man, but that just made her call him and that was notably worse than reading the same message over and over again. So, he figured he wouldn't actually go check on his brother, just tell her he did, send her a text 10 minutes later saying "he's fine," and call it a day. But he forgets everything seconds after the thought is fully formed, so he was once again getting a phone call from his mother except instead of calling him a horrible older brother, she tacked on “bad son” and “disrespectful.”

And he doesn't enjoy his mother making him feel twelve instead of twenty so he's stopped trying to get out of it and just does it, no questions asked.

He doesn't have to go far, they live in the same building, they're just on different floors, (another order from their mother), but that doesn't make the situation any less annoying He's pissy from the time he exits his own dorm and knocks on Mark's door.

And when no one answers, his mild annoyance escalates to full blown irritation, with both Mark and himself. He knows Mark, and his little shit of a best friend, Haechan, never opens the damn door. They leave it unlocked so they, and anyone else, can come and go as they please. But apparently anyone else doesn't include Doyoung himself because if Haechan is there, and he somehow always is, he gives Doyoung an ear full about how rude he is for just walking in. And because Doyoung's an idiot, he takes the bait, responds, and they bicker like five year olds until Doyoung remembers he's 20 going on 21 and he has better things to do than argue with his younger brother's demon best friend.

But strangely enough, someone opens the door, and it's even stranger that it's Haechan that swings the door open. He looks just as irritated as Doyoung feels.

"Fuck are you doing here?"

He doesn't even give Doyoung the chance to respond, he barely gets enough time to register what was said to him before Haechan's walking away. It's only when he sees the boy round the corner to the kitchen that Doyoung shakes off whatever stupor he was stuck in.

"Okay, first of all, you know exactly why the fuck I'm here." Doyoung walks into the room, shuts the door behind him, and flops into the arm chair, "And why the hell are you stomping around like a fucking five year old?"

Haechan mumbles and grumbles to himself, completely ignoring Doyoung's question, he just keeps rifling through the same cabinet he's been looking through since he entered the kitchen. Each second that passes Doyoung can tell he's getting more and more irritated, and Doyoung's not gonna pass up the chance to poke the bear.

"What, somebody stole your cookies? Is the baby gonna cry? Boo fuckin' hoo." Doyoung hears the cabinet slam and he can't help himself, he immediately burst into a fit of laughter, "Lmaooooo you're really mad!"

"Fuck you!" Haechan moves to the next cabinet and starts his search all over again.

Doyoung snorts, and lets the comment roll off his back, "Hmmmm, where's Mark?"

"Fuck if I know, I'm not his keeper."

Haechan still has his back to him, but Doyoung can tell he’s hyper aware of his presence. The muscles in his back are drawn tight and this would probably be a good time to stop pushing his buttons, but Doyoung can’t help but comment on his attitude.

"You're so. . . irritating."

“If I’m so fuckin' irritating,” Haechan slams another cabinet, and this time Doyoung thinks maybe he’ll turn around, if the aborted movement of his head is anything to go by, but Haechan continues to face the old wooden cabinet door, “what are you still here for? I already said I don’t know where Mark is, so there isn’t really anything else I can give you. Now is there?”

Doyoung knows Haechan knows where Mark is, “Because you’re lying," and while the smartass tone grates his nerves, it’s not his usual smartass tone. Instead of sounding snarky or bratty, he just sounds exasperated and exhausted. And as much as he enjoys getting under the boy's skin, he doesn’t like to see him genuinely upset. They grew up together, in some twisted way, he’s family, “But I’ve decided I don’t actually care about that anymore. Answer my first question, why are you so bitchy today?"

Based on the disgruntled whining he can hear coming from the kitchen and the sound of another door, this time the refrigerator door, slamming -- he could have worded that better. "I'm not being anything jackass."

"You are, and you know you are, so just tell me."

This time Haechan does turn to face him, back leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, scowl on his face, and his tone is just as defensive as his stance. "Ah yes, because whining about my problem to the person that just called me a bitch makes complete sense."

Doyoung tries, he does, but his eyes roll without his permission, "I never actually called you a bitch, I said you're being bitchy but--”

Haechan scoffs and cuts him off, “Semantics.”

Doyoung just plows on, “BUT I guess I'm sorry if you took offense. Now,” He sits up straight and scoots further back in the chair so he’s not slouching anymore, “come here, and tell Doie what's wrong."

This time it’s Haechan’s turn to roll his eyes, but he comes out from behind the kitchen table and this is the first time Doyoung really gets to look at the boy. He’s not sure what makes him do it, or why he doesn’t register it as weird, but he finds himself letting his eyes wander and roam over Haechan’s figure. The boy's wearing a too big t-shirt that he’s more than positive Haechan stole from one of their mutual friends, it’s loose around the collar like he’s been tugging at it all day. It slopes off his right shoulder putting his collar bones and moles on display. The shirt stops about mid thigh and then it’s just pretty tan legs that go on endlessly. His legs aren’t all that thick, they’re actually quite slim, but they look soft and like the flesh will give under a bit of pressure.

Haechan stops in front of him, and Doyoung snakes his eyes up the length of his form to meet omega’s eyes and pats his lap, “I said come here.”

Doyoung should have known that Haechan wouldn’t sit on his lap like a normal person would. That he would choose to ignore the conventional forms of lap sitting, such as sitting back to front, or sitting bridal style. He should have known, and somewhere in his head he acknowledges that he expected it (and that he preferred it this way) Haechan would choose to straddle him. He would never say this out loud, because it would start an unnecessary argument, but the boy’s an attention whore. Of course he would want to sit in the one position where Doyoung can’t look at anything other than him, especially when he’s upset.

Haechan doesn’t say anything when he first sits down, just sighs and slides his arms around Doyoung’s neck and scoots up until he’s perfectly planted in Doyoung’s lap. Once again, Doyoung just lets his body do what it wants, let it do what it seems to think is best. He runs his hands up Haechan’s exposed thighs and glides his hands up past his hips around his waist and then back to his hips.

At first he doesn’t notice it, he’s not really focused on anything other than touch and sound. He’s more focused on how soft Haechan's skin feels, how his thighs dimple under the force of his hands, what it feels like to wrap his hands around Haechan’s waist, how he sighs when Doyoung's hands reach riskier territory like the junction between his thighs and ass. But then he smells it, or more specifically him, the usually barely there scent of ripe strawberries and sugar, is clouding the very small amount of space they have between them.

Doyoung stops his petting and looks up in mild disbelief. “Are you. . .”

Haechan shakes his head, “No, I’m just,” he groans and lets his eyes flutter open, “I’m having false heat symptoms.”

“Is this why you were so annoyed that Mark wasn’t here.” Haechan huffs in irritation and scoots impossibly closer to Doyoung, he snakes his hand up into Doyoung’s hair and tugs until they’re making eye contact, “The little bitch abandoned me to go be a whore, and I will make his life a living hell when he gets back.”

Doyoung feels like he should be offended, that the omega in his lap had the balls to call his little brother a bitch and a whore in the same sentence, and in his next breath threaten his life but he’s just amused.

He smiles up at Haechan, “Do what you gotta do.”

“Wait. . .” It’s then that Doyoung feels like a complete dick because as close as they are, and he doesn’t usually have to be invited into the apartment, he, an alpha, invaded an omega’s bubble unexpectedly. “Shit, is that-- I’m sorry cub. I didn’t know. Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Haechan practically spits the words out in panic, Doyoung just hums in response and goes back to petting him, half because he just wants to touch and the other half because he wants the pliant and soft Haechan back, “It’s fine. I’m fine now. I want you to stay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I want the company.”

“Hmmmm. . .” Doyoung’s not sure where he gets the confidence, or why he’s asking, but he knows what he’s implying when he does. He at the very least has the decency to look away, eyes fixed on his own hands, before he speaks, “Anything else you want?”

Haechan raises an eyebrow at that, “Anything else I want, huh?”

Doyoung just hums in response again, but just to make his intentions even more clear he slides his finger tips under the bit of shirt covering the very tops of Haechan’s legs, thumbs sliding across the tender skin of his inner thighs.

“So,” Haechan tightens his grips on Doyoung’s hair, he tugs just hard enough to force Doyoung’s head up, “you find out I’m in faux heat, and you immediately assume I’m on edge?”

He tries not to sound patronizing, to keep the smirk off his face, but he’s not exactly sure what the protocol is for this situation, and going on what he knows sounds better. “My assumption was right. . .no?”

“Don’t ask questions you know the answers to.”

Haechan goes quiet again, just gently tugging and pulling on the black strands tangled in his fingers. Doyoung has nothing else to say, all his cards are on the table, the ball isn’t in his court, and the final decision isn’t his. If Haechan says no, they ignore this, pretend it never happened, if he says yes. . .

“M’kay -- yeah, yeah touch me.” He nods along with his words, hair bouncing in unison with his decision.

“You sure?” The look he gets in response perfectly matches his words, “You can either finger me or shut the fuck up and leave.”

“No need to be so snappy, cub. You know, I am trying to do you a favor.”

“I’m not being snappy, you’re just--”

Doyoung’s fingers trail up until he reaches the bit of thigh that he hasn’t come in contact with, the soft smooth skin turns wet and sticky the higher he goes. He runs his fingers through the mess coating Haechan’s thighs and again, he can’t help himself, he has to comment. He has to state the obvious.

“You’re not wearing any underwear, are you?” Doyoung keeps playing in the mess, coating the tips of his index and middle finger in the juice, “You straddled me knowing you had no panties on.”

“Yeah, and? I wasn't wet when I did." Haechan pushes his hips forward and down to try and force Doyoung to move where he wants him. He releases his own quiet hum of satisfaction when the fingers playing in the mess on his thigh finally push against his pussy lips. "But I am now."

"You definitely are now." Doyoung stops whatever game he's playing at and slips two fingers into the waiting boy. He looks up again to try and catch Haechan's eye, check and see if the he's okay, that this is something he definitely wants, but all Doyoung sees is a blissed out expression. The twisted expression on Haechan's face has finally melted away, like the itch that's been nagging him has finally been scratched.

And Doyoung. . .Doyoung really likes that look.

"You look pretty just like this cub," Doyoung keeps his movements slow and meticulous, Haechan's soft wet walls clenching and caving around the digits, "so pretty sitting on my fingers like this."

Haechan's hips stutter at the praise, a blush working it's way up from his neck to his cheeks, "Oh you like to be called pretty don't you sweetheart?" He doesn't get an answer, just a high overwhelmed whimper, and his head buried in the omega's neck.

Doyoung takes the opportunity to lick and suck at the column of Haechan's throat, leaving an unorganized cluster of light purple hickeys and bright red teeth marks on the once clear, untouched skin. For each harsh mark he leaves behind he places a wet open mouth kiss, and each time he's rewarded with another high whine, and aborted desperate twitches.

He wants to see what Haechan looks like when he takes what he wants, when he fucks himself down, when he grinds and rolls his hips chasing after his own orgasm.

He wants to see Haechan when he's so worked up that being embarrassed is the last thing on his mind.

"Baby, what do you need?" Doyoung whispers the words into Haechan's neck, tongue and teeth already going back to adding to the constellations on his neck, "What is Doie not doing for you?"

"My--my clit," his already sweet voice, has gone high and whiny, words breathy and rushed, "need you to touch. Wanna feel you there."

Doyoung stiffens his hand, tilting up just enough so the heel of his hand meets Haechan's clit. The omega chokes on his own spit when the swollen wet nub finally gets the attention it needs. He tries to just let Doyoung do what he wants, to let Doyoung take care of him like he offered, but he needs this, he can feels his walls clenching around Doyoung's fingers trying to pull them in deeper even though there's nothing else for them to reach. He feels the pulsing in his cunt, a rhythmic throbbing mocking him for being desperate enough to ride his best friend's brother's fingers, but god it feels good.

Doyoung pushes back against the hand in his hair, and pulls away from Haechan's neck to get eyes on the boy in his lap.

And god he's gorgeous.

His fluffy hair is bouncing with the rest of his movements, he's got unshed tears building in his wide eyes, his lips tilting in a gentle pout. His bottom lip is jutting out red and swollen, and Doyoung fights the urge to see what those plush lips look like wrapped around his fingers. His eyes travel the expanse of Haechan's neck, and he feels a deep possessive satisfaction seeing the tan skin covered in an array of discolored markers.

"Look at you, taking what you need like a good boy."

"Do-doie can hnng-- can you-- can you kiss me?"

Doyoung can't help but laugh, he uses his free hand to take hold of Haechan's jaw, "I've already got you riding my fingers and whining in my lap, and you're asking if I can kiss you?"

The tears that Doyoung has been watching steadily build up in Haechan's eyes finally spill past, the pout on his lips wobbling in pure devastation.

Doyoung doesn't think he'll see anything this endearing ever again.

"Alpha please just--just give me permission." He all hiccups and soft sniffles and Doyoung caves almost immediately, but not before he gets his smartass comment in.

"I already told you, I'll give you anything you want."

He uses his grip on Haechan's jaw to pull the boy in. He gives into his desire to leave gentle pecks against the boy's pouty bottom lip, he leaves one, two, three kisses before he slips his tongue in. Haechan responds just as desperately, lips parting easily allowing him in, tongue rolling and curling with Doyoung's. He doesn't try to fight, or guide, or take the lead, he just lets Doyoung tongue fuck his mouth, whines and moans being swallowed up and drowned out by Doyoung's own lips. For a while the room is just Haechan's muffled moans, and spit slick lips moving against each other and breaking apart every few seconds.

It only stops when Haechan rips himself away. He goes back to hiding his face in Doyoung's shoulder, his breaths are sporadic, hiccuping on his own sounds of pleasure, he can barely speak but he tries.

He sounds raw and broken and Doyoung feels that sense of deep satisfaction settle in his gut once again.

"Please, don't--" his hips are working fast now, rhythmic circles now these quick sloppy forward jerking motions, "don't move!"

Doyoung stills his hand but his mouth runs on its own accord, "You're close aren't you? I can feel your cunt clenching and tightening, and you're so wet I'm surprised my fingers haven't slipped out. I know you can hear that -- that filthy squelching sound." Haechan's breaths are shallow and rapid, but he's nodding along in agreement like a broken bobblehead. "Come on cub. . .don't you wanna make more of a mess? Don't you wanna nut all over my fingers? Do it for me, baby. Come on my fingers 'cause Doie wants you to. Be my good boy."

Doyoung's spent the entire time he's had his fingers buried in Haechan's cunt wondering what he sounds like when he cums. Is he loud and whiny like everything else about him would suggest? Does he scream it out? Does he moan? Does his jaw drop open, a pretty "O" shape on his lips, with no sound? Does he just sigh gently, his body language the only clear sign he climaxed?

He doesn't have to wait long to find out, and the only thing he regrets is that he doesn't get to see it.

He feels it first. Feels Haechan go still in arms, his only movements are the gentle tremors running through his form. He feels the hand in his hair lock up, fingers pulling painfully hard on the black locks. And he feels his already soaked hand soaked further, pussy juice running alongs his fingers and pooling in his palm.

Then he hears it, hears how Haechan stops breathing, just these painfully desperate rapid inhales. Breaths so quick he's sure they're not reaching his lungs at all. Then the noises cease, and for a second they're just suspended in silence as Haechan shakes his way through his high. Only for him to groan in relief right after and slump forward into Doyoung's hold.

He pants directly into Doyoung's ear, nosing along his cheek and jaw line like an unexpectedly cuddly cat. He leaves wet and sticky kisses on any part he can reach in a slow sleepy way, and Doyoung feels like he should offer to move him but he likes this little bubble. He's never gotten to see Haechan like this. Soft and fuzzy, overtly cuddly and willing to listen, willing to let people take care of him.

He loves it more than he should.

Doyoung gently retracts his hand, and he finds himself overly interested in how wet and sticky his hand is. He pulls his fingers apart, watching the slick break and stick together and briefly considers sucking it off his fingers, but no. . . that's not how he wants to taste him for the first time.

He'll wait.

Haechan works his way from Doyoung's ear, to his jawline, to the corner of his mouth, to Doyoung's kiss swollen lips. But before he gets there, Doyoung stops him, clean hand taking a light, but firm, hold of his jaw. Haechan's already pouting, a whine working it's way up from the back of his throat. Doyoung just hushes him, "Lick them clean,"  
and places his wet sticky fingers against plush red lips.

Haechan parts his lips, pink tongue poking out and sucking the slender digits into his mouth. He swallows around the pair of fingers, tongue coated in the sweet sugary taste of his own slick. Haechan makes eye contact with Doyoung, his usually bright, wide eyes, are drooping and fluttering with an adorable sleepiness that has Doyoung cooing.

"You're so cute, cub. You did so well for me. Such a good boy."

Haechan just hums along happily, letting Doyoung's fingers fall from between his spit shined lips. The alpha pulls him with the hand he has on his jaw, giving into the kiss Haechan wanted to give him only seconds before.

This kiss is completely different from the first, it's not desperate, it's not rushed, it's not even overtly sexual. It's just like the moment they're in now, slow, and gentle, a way to be close. A way for Doyoung to communicate that he's here and Haechan to answer in kind, that he's okay.

When they break a part Haechan leans back, putting a miniscule bit of space between them. He slides a hand from Doyoung's hair down his chest until he reaches the alpha's crotch. He places his palm on Doyoung's hard on in a silent offer, fingers dancing over the bulge hidden by grey sweatpants.

"No," Doyoung stops Haechan's hand with his own, porcelain fingers tangling with tan ones, "I don't need it."

"But it looks like you want it," Haechan pulls his hand away to wrap himself around Doyoung again, "let me take care of you."

Doyoung finds himself once again buried in Haechan's neck, the scent of happy omega, strawberries and shortcake cake, is at its strongest there. He finds himself nosing, kissing, and sucking along Haechan's throat as close to his scent gland as he can get. He couldn't stop himself if he wanted to, and he has no intention to.

"Doieeee!" Haechan sounds petulant and whiny and Doyoung, once again, thinks this is his favorite version of Haechan, "It's not fair, come on let me."

Doyoung is completely unconcerned with his own situation, "I'm fine, let's just go nap." He just wants to take care of Haechan, "You're sleepy. Now get up, and let's go to your room."

Haechan huffs like Doyoung is asking for the most impossible, unreasonable, task imaginable, "You're so annoying." He grumbles the entire time, but he climbs off of Doyoung's lap, grabs his hand, and pulls him out of the chair to his room.

"You were literally about to face plant into the chair, and if you think I'm going to sit still for hours on end, because you fell asleep, you're delusional."

He swings Doyoung past him into the small bedroom, leaving himself to block the doorway, "Oh, so you were just gonna abandon me while I was vulnerable?" He pokes a stiff finger into Doyoung's chest, "Huh, just gonna leave me like your fuckhead brother."

Doyoung grabs at Haechan's outstretched arm and pulls him into his chest, he leaves a disgustingly sweet kiss on his head and slips down just enough to talk directly in his ear, " Why would you want to be so mean to someone that just. . .what did you call it? Take the edge off."

Haechan shoves at his chest again with a low growl, sending him crashing against the bed. "You're such a fucking jackass."

Doyoung laughs loud and annoying, bouncing against Haechan's unmade bed sheets. "I know. I know, whatever. Just come lay down." He kicks his legs up onto the bed and opens his arms. "I'm offering to cuddle you and maybe even feed you when I wake up."

Haechan crawls on top of him, and for a second Doyoung thinks he'll stop there, that he'll just flop on top of him so even if Doyoung tried to get rid of him he couldn't. But Haechan is happier now, less irritated, more coherent. . .he's normal bratty Haechan. So instead, he rolls off of him and squirms and wiggles until he's got an arm under Doyoung's head, an arm across his chest, and a leg thrown over his torso.

Doyoung watches him do all of this, smiling to himself like a fool watching his hair bounce, fluff, and static up as the boy tries to stick and squish himself right into Doyoung's side.

Haechan catches him, "Stop staring." He smiles down at Doyoung, he looks like a cat that got the cream, "I know I'm pretty."

"Oh, I was definitely staring," Doyoung admits he's pretty, he's said it more times than he can count since he's been in the omega's apartment, but he's not gonna say it now. . .that wouldn't be on brand, "But I'm just tickled by the idea of you having to hide all those hickeys."

The smile he gives mirrors Haechan's from all of ten seconds ago, and Haechan laughs almost deliriously.

"Fuck I didn't even think about that," he runs a hand through his hair, eyebrows scrunching briefly, before he shrugs and his face levels out, "I'll worry about it later."

He leans in quickly, briefly taking Doyoung by surprise, but he gets with the program eventually. There's no tongue, just the gentle pressure of lips meeting and sealing together. It's nice. That's the only way he can describe it.

It's just nice.

Haechan pulls away first, they're still close enough that they're sharing the same air, "Good night Doie."

Doyoung likes the intimacy, so he stays put, lips brushing against Haechan's gently, "Goodnight cub." Haechan pulls away fully this time, lays on Doyoung's chest and shoulder, fluffy brown mop of hair tickling the alpha's cheek and chin.

"I owe you one."

"Wait, huh?"

Haechan snorts, "You heard me, now go to sleep."

"But--"

Haechan sighs, "Doyoung!" He raises himself up, gearing up to start arguing with the alpha, but Doyoung just palms the back of his head and holds it firmly to his own chest. "Alright. Alright. Don't fucking start. You owe me one."

"That's what I thought," Haechan hums and Doyoung feels it vibrate through his own chest, "Good Alpha."

🍫


	2. Indecent Proposal #2: Buy Me A Cake?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haechan doesn’t even have time to decide if he’s gonna be a brat and ignore the command. His voice is already worming it’s way out of his throat, tongue forming the syllables that will give the alpha what he wants.
> 
> Do what alpha said.
> 
> “It was a mini cake -- personal one.”
> 
> “Okay.” He moves Haechan off him and slides out of bed, “I’ll get you one.” 
> 
> ***
> 
> It's the post-coital nap after, and they deal with the consequences.

🍓

Haechan hears it first, the incessant rattling and ringing of Doyoung’s phone. At first, he was content to ignore it, let it ring through, and pray the person on the other end would give up and just send a text message. So when the phone call ends, he shrugs and snuggles back into the space Doyoung left for him on his right side. But the second his little head is being cradled by Doyoung’s tiddie, the ringing starts again. 

He sighs.

It’s the exhausted, “I just wanted peace and quiet,” kind of sigh. He rubs his face against Doyoung’s chest, and blindly reaches for the cursed device. He knows he’s getting closer when he feels the gentle buzzing in his fingertips. With a bit more deft finger-crawling, he manages to get the cool metal ridge under the pads of his fingers. He flexes his fingers to slide the screen further into his hold before he’s able to get it off the table. 

His vision is blurry, the blue light burning his retinas as he takes a look at who's interrupting his afternoon. He sees “ _ Mom _ ” spelled across the screen in boring, bold, white letters and finds himself sighing again, because there’s no way they’ll both be able to go back to bed after this. 

Now, Haechan loves Mrs. Lee; she’s a kind woman, who's been a part of his life so long she’s essentially a second mom. But he’s seen how she operates when it comes to her kids, and she’s a textbook helicopter parent, especially when it comes to Mark. She’s constantly checking in, always asking too many questions, and -- when she’s around -- constantly hovers. But when she can’t be there, she bullies Doyoung into being her reluctant set of eyes and ears.

So when Haechan sees she’s calling, he sits up, an unconscious hand coming up to rub the frustration marring his face away. He drops the phone on Doyoung’s chest, a muted  _ thud _ sounding off before uselessly sliding off to hit Haechan’s bare thigh, but the alpha doesn’t move. Doyoung’s still just laying there on his back, right arm thrown over his eyes, sleeping peacefully, the only sign he felt it being the subtle twitching of his fingers. 

This time the frustration has him running his fingers through his hair, the brown nest looking more a disaster after his ministrations. He tries calling for Doyoung, but he can’t manage to force his sleep-riddled voice higher than a gentle croon. His tongue feels thick and his voice breaks around the syllables, so he gives up and settles on the heavy threat of death, grubby little fingers pinching Doyoung’s nostrils shut. 

The reaction is almost immediate. Doyoung shoots up, eyes screaming in panic, and tears Haechan’s hand away from his face. Haechan moves easily with Doyoung’s movements - after all, he was just trying to wake him up, not  _ actually _ kill him or scare him. “You’re fine -- just me.” 

Doyoung’s grip on his hand relaxes, but his eyes narrow into what has to be the most non-threatening glare Haechan has ever experienced. His hair’s sticking up, and his face is all red and puffy -- he looks like a disgruntled five year old.

It’s kinda cute.

Haechan wiggles the fingers Doyoung’s captured and mumbles, “Phone. Mom. Answer.” Before slumping to the side and laying back down. Doyoung rolls his eyes and tosses Haechan’s hand back at him, the limp limb falling lamely in the minimal space between himself and the alpha. He uses that same hand to put the phone back on Doyoung’s chest, and giggles at the look of pure misery and inconvenience. “Answer it.”

Doyoung’s face twists up some more, adding a layer of begging to the situation, “How about--” 

“No.”

“But--”

“You and I both know she’s going to keep calling, so answer and get it over with.”

Doyoung curses under his breath before finally tapping the little green icon. If Haechan weren’t still so fuzzy from being woken up he would have cackled at Doyoung using his best customer service voice with his mother. 

“Hey, Ma. . .”

Haechan can’t hear everything being said. He can really only hear what Doyoung’s saying and that only consist of hums of agreement, “yes,” “no,” “I’m sorry,” and the occasional, “I just forgot.” The longer it goes on the more Haechan feels like it’ll never end; they’re talking in circles. He tries to provide some form of comfort, a quiet show of solidarity, by sliding his hand under Doyoung’s shirt and petting his stomach. 

The almost robotic back and forth becomes background noise to his reckless train of thoughts surrounding their circumstances. He bounces around from topic to topic, the voice in his head rambling on uselessly. He thinks about how he feels better than he did earlier today, about how he would really like to go back to sleep. He skips over to how much happier he would be if this phone call would end, and then he’s barreling full steam ahead to blaming Mark for his problems. His earlier animosity towards his best friend coming out to play when he reasons this wouldn’t be happening if Mark had actually been here. It may not be fair to place the blame on Mark, but he needs someone to blame, and who better than the treacherous little whore.

He ignores the little voice in his head, telling him everything that happened today wouldn’t have happened if Mark hadn’t left. The one making it clear Doyoung would not be in his bed had things gone the way they were supposed to. 

Haechan gets pulled from his thoughts when the gentle rolls beneath his fingers start to pull taught and flatten out. He moves his head slightly out of the way as Doyoung lays back down in his original spot. He runs a large, smooth hand down towards Haechan’s thigh, and tugs until it’s laying across his hips. 

At first, Haechan’s content to sit in silence, pressed up against Doyoung’s side, but he thinks he may actually cry if he has to listen to the same hot button words spill from Doyoung’s mouth again. He uses his positioning to give himself better leverage and pulls himself up until he’s planted in his lap. He leans forward, hands sliding up Doyoung’s torso as he makes his way up. The fabric of Doyoung’s shirt moves with him, bunching under his hands and exposes the bottom of his stomach, but he keeps moving. He only stops when his hands reach Doyoung’s shoulders, lips ghosting across the shell of his right ear, “Just tell her you’re here.”

Doyoung just shakes his head in response, and it’s Haechan’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“Come on, if you’re here, she’ll believe you went to check on Mark.”

Doyoung mouths his answer this time, but it’s still not the answer he wants to hear.

_ No _ .

“You fucking--” Haechan swipes at Doyoung’s hand and snatches the phone off him. Doyoung tries to sit up to meet Haechan, but the omega just rolls with the movement and leans back. His feet and calves are the only parts of himself that bear no real burden. His core quivers with the work of trying to keep his descent steady and controlled, and his hips burn uncomfortably, the stretch making itself known for every second he spends bent backwards. But he needed to put some distance between them, and the only way Doyoung can get to him is to try and get out from under where Haechan’s ass has him pinned. If he moves too forcefully, he’ll risk dislocating Haechan’s hips.

He has no other option but to give up.

And Haechan, can’t help the self satisfied smirk that creeps over his lips, as he finally puts the phone to his ear. He hears Mrs. Lee mid sentence, “Doyoung what are--” before cutting her off with his overly cheerful voice, “Hi, Mama!”

“Ah -- Haechanie is that you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How did you get Doyoung’s phone?”

“I took it. I wanted to say hi.”

“So, Doyoung’s with you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer to her oh so obvious question, she moves onto the next one.

The one Haechan had been waiting for.

“Is he in your apartment or his own?”

“Mine. Doyoung came by earlier to check on Mark, but I was feeling . . ..” He trails off, distracted by the feeling of Doyoung sitting up. He locks eyes with the alpha and sees the warning swimming in them, but Haechan’s never been good at taking those seriously, “Hmmm,  _ sicky _ , and he stayed.” He can’t help but keep his eyes trained on Doyoung in that moment, the devil dancing in his irises as he says, “He took good care of me.” Doyoung groans, and uses his hold on Haechan’s waist to pull him up. Haechan allows himself to be dragged closer, but only so Doyoung can hear his smothered giggles a bit better. “He made me feel a lot better.” Doyoung looks completely unamused, and it’s just making it harder for Haechan not to laugh until he’s crying. But he did this to help Doyoung out, he can’t blow it, so he takes a deep breath, and puts on his best guilt tripping voice, “It’s my fault. He was distracted by me.” He practically embodies pouty miserable omega at this point, “I’m sorry, Mama.” 

Doyoung’s mother falls to pieces almost immediately and coos at Haechan.

“Oh, no, baby, it’s okay. All that matters is that you’re feeling better now.”

Haechan gives a gentle hum as answer, faking a small yawn. To him and Doyoung, it sounds like bullshit; to her, it sounds like he’s trying to muffle such a rude sound, one he’s trying to hide. “Oh, you must still be tired, sweetheart. I’m gonna go now, okay! Tell Doyoung to take care of himself, you, and his brother. And remind him to call me later!” She barely waits for Haechan to say bye before she’s hanging up, finally leaving the pair alone. 

“Would you look at that?” Haechan smiles and dangles the phone in front of Doyoung’s face, swinging it back and forth like a teasing cat toy, “Crazy how she hung up after she found out you were here.” He drops the phone in Doyoung’s lap, a condescending  _ hmmm _ rounding out the action.

Doyoung shoves him, and because he’s dramatic, he flails and throws himself back. The quick fall is way less controlled than when he did it the first time, and he pays for it. His right hip clicks, a painful cramp spreading from the joint to his back. He arches his back trying to relieve some of the pressure. His hip pops again, an appeased groan following the sound. He slowly lets himself lay flat and because trying to sit up alone sounds like work he doesn’t wanna do. He wiggles his newly empty fingers and whimpers out a small plea of, “ _ Help _ .” 

“No.”

He says it with such finality, it should offend him. But then he feels Doyoung’s hands gripping him at his hips. They’re firm and strong, and dig into the soft fat on his sides as he tugs them up just enough to raise Haechan’s hips an inch or two. It deepens the stretch but reduces the chance of the pulling sensation becoming a muscle contraction. 

So even though Doyoung’s being a little shit, he’s still choosing to take care of him.

Haechan can’t help but laugh. It’s a breathy, airy, kind of thing, but it’s tinkling in amusement.

Because this is their game. It always goes like this. 

Doyoung always refuses to give Haechan what he wants right off the bat. Haechan will pull, Doyoung will push, but each and every time, the inevitable will happen, and Doyoung will come running along to do whatever unnecessary innocuous -- _ thing  _ Haechan asked him for. So, it makes him laugh when he asks Doyoung for help and he says no. Haechan knows he doesn’t actually  _ need _ the help. If he really wanted to sit up, he would. Doyoung knows that Haechan is only asking because he  _ wants _ Doyoung to go out of his way to help him. But, most importantly, they both know Doyoung  _ will  _ help him. 

The only unanswered question is  _ when _ .

He whines, “Come on,  _ please _ !” He’s pouting, bottom lip wobbling, “I was so good, and got you out of trouble. Come on, Doie, help me.”

Doyoung snorts, an ugly mocking sound, before he deadpans, “Ah, yes, I should be  _ so _ grateful you giggled innuendos on the phone with my mother.”

“She didn’t know!” He can’t help it, he giggles again, briefly losing the perpetual pout glued to his face, but he recovers. “And I still got you out of trouble --  _ come on _ !” 

“That’s only because she thinks the sun shines out of your ass.” 

“Must run in the family.” 

Haechan feels the already firm grip edge close to rough, and he knows Doyoung’s given into him again. He pulls hard and quick, using the first burst of momentum to slide a hand up Haechan’s back and push him up. He uses some of his own strength to pull himself up, core flexing with the effort; because one, he’s not a monster, and two, Doyoung helping him will forever be more about Doyoung’s willingness to do so rather than the help itself.

He smiles when he’s finally level with Doyoung, another giggle singing past his lips at the look of deep exasperation on Doyoung’s face. “And it’s not  _ my  _ fault you decided to take care of little ol’ me the way you did.” He wraps his arms around Doyoung’s shoulders, doing a happy little wiggle when he feels arms wrap around his waist in return. 

“From what I remember, you mainly helped yourself out.” Doyoung’s tone is matter of fact and harmless, which means whatever he says next is going to make him want to crawl into a hole and die. “You know the part when you rode--”

Haechan slaps a hand over Doyoung’s mouth, “ **Alright!** ” He wants to wipe the mirth off his face, kill the joy in his eyes, but their relationship lacks. . .  _ balance.  _ At least for right now. The dirt Doyoung has on him isn’t something Haechan has gotten to experience yet. He will. He’s certain they’ll get there eventually, but for right now, all he can do is not let the teasing crinkle around Doyoung’s eyes get under his skin too bad, and change the subject. 

“So, how are you gonna make this up to me?”

When he feels the happy tilt to Doyoung’s lips melt into a gentle frown against his palm, and the amusing glint in his eyes turns toward confusion, he retracts his hand.

“Make what up to you?”

“The what in question,” it’s his turn to smile now, he loves having the upper hand, “is the nap you woke me up from.”

Doyoung scoffs, “I did not wa--”

“Last time I checked, it was your phone that was ringing, correct?” The question’s rhetorical. It would be pointless to say anything in response, but he knows Doyoung just can’t help himself.

He always has to at least  _ try _ and respond. 

“Well, yeah, but--”

This is another one of their pointless back and forths. The kind where they argue about things they already know are going to end in Haechan’s favor. At one point, Haechan’s reasoning for why they did it was related to their overly competitive nature. They both like to win, they both hate to lose, and there’s something disgustingly satisfying about beating someone as prideful as yourself. But now-- now he thinks he can say why Doyoung plays along. Now he thinks there’s a bit more to their little games. Now, he thinks he’s been misreading their blatant stubborn stupidity as thinly veiled flirting. 

“But, nothing. Your phone, your responsibility, your problem to fix.” Haechan leans in and nuzzles into Doyoung’s neck, the warm, rich scent of chocolate tickles his nose, and he honestly thinks he could die happy here. But not after demanding at least one more thing from Doyoung, “Now, how are you gonna make it up to me?”

Doyoung gets a grip on his hair, long fingers coming up to tug at his brown locks. He pulls Haechan out of his neck and looks him over, and Haechan does everything he can to  _ show _ Doyoung what he wants. His eyelids are droopy, gaze trained on Doyoung’s pillowy pink lips. He swipes his tongue across his own bottom lip, leaving them slick and parted. His breaths are slow and shallow and he knows Doyoung can smell the thickening scent of strawberries and cream. He’s hyper aware of how empty he feels, cunt already starting to weep at the idea of being used. He wants more of what Doyoung gave him earlier, and he’s sure Doyoung knows that. Doyoung rarely refuses him, rarely denies his every little whim.

Until he does.

A day full of first it seems. 

“What--” Doyung shakes his head as if to get rid of the fog. He clears his throat and lets his eyes flutter shut. Choosing to focus on the back of his own eyelids and not the omega. 

He’s feeling a little offended right now. 

“What were you looking for when I first got here?”

“Huh?” Haechan probably looks as dumb as he sounds, face screwing up in a mixture of annoyance and confusion, “What are you talking about?”

Doyoung can probably hear his irritation, but he holds fast, and repeats the question, “What were you looking for when I first got here?” He looks the perfect picture of calm and content. He still has his eyes closed, his shoulders are slumped, and while Haechan can’t see his hands, he can feel one gently tracing random patterns into his back, and the other softly scraping nails across his scalp. 

It’s pissing him off.

But he really has no choice but to answer the question.

“Cake. I was looking for cake.”

“What kind of cake?”

“White cake, chocolate frosting. . .”

“What size was it.”

He can’t figure out what his point is. He’s not even annoyed anymore -- just confused. Why is the cake taking greater priority than his blatant  _ let’s fuck _ proposal. The offer might as well be tattooed on his forehead and Doyoung is, quite literally, choosing to close his eyes and ignore it. It makes no sense whatsoever, and he doesn’t even have the room to let insecurity grow because he  _ knows _ Doyoung finds him attractive. . .

So, what gives?

Haechan’s mouth does it’s best fish imitation, opening and closing, searching for some kind of response, words, a decent question. 

“Why do--”

Doyoung interrupts Haechan by using his grip to gently shake the omega’s head back and forth. The muscles in his neck stretch and roll and he finds himself relaxing with the tender manhandling. Doyoung finally opens his eyes again and makes direct eye contact with Haechan. He fills pinned down by that look, it sends a chill up his spine, goose bumps breaking out all over. 

He couldn’t look away if he tried. 

“Answer the question.”

Haechan doesn’t even have time to decide if he’s gonna be a brat and ignore the command. His voice is already worming it’s way out of his throat, tongue forming the syllables that will give the alpha what he wants.

_ Do what alpha said. _

“It was a mini cake -- personal one.”

“Okay.” He moves Haechan off him and slides out of bed, “I’ll get you one.” 

Doyoung pushes Haechan until he’s lying flat on his back, ignoring the little bewildered sound of confusion, and ever growing pout on the omega’s face. He throws the blanket that’s been neglected and kicked towards the edge of the bed over Haechan and plants a kiss on his pliant lips. He doesn’t linger long; Haechan barely has enough time to acknowledge the gentle pressure and reciprocate before Doyoung’s pulling away. 

“Go back to sleep, I’ll be back in a little bit.”

By time Haechan’s able to shake the alpha haze off, Doyoung’s gone. 

He leaves Haechan alone in his bedroom, wondering when the fuck did Doyoung learn to uno reverse card his bullshit. And why on earth did he turn down pussy to go get a fucking  _ cake _ .

One that he didn’t even  _ ask _ for?!

If he thinks about it long enough it’s infuriating. 

Utterly infuriating.

Doyoung left him to go get him a cake as compensation for waking him up from his nap, when Haechan so  _ clearly _ wanted Doyoung to fuck him back to sleep. He can still feel the obvious neediness he was oozing running through his veins completely untapped. He wanted his attention, and for what has to be the first time in their history of Doyoung and Haechan, Haechan and Doyoung, he was  _ denied _ . 

He can’t even begin to think of a valid reason for Doyoung’s departure. All that comes to mind is that he did this to spite him. This is a new game that they’re playing, and Doyoung not only won round one, but had the gall to set the rules too. For the first time, Haechan is trying to play catch up while Doyoung is running full steam ahead. And he’s even more frustrated knowing that he  _ wants _ to play this new game. That he wants to play by Doyoung’s rules.

It’s all so irritating. 

He’s wound up, and annoyed, and so fucking horny. Doyoung’s little intervention earlier was nice, and having an actual partner next to him, an alpha at that, made the situation 100 times easier to deal with. But now he’s alone, the thick scent of chocolate clinging to the spot Doyoung just left, and it feels like his cunt is humming to the tune of “ _ touch me, please _ .”

Haechan groans and throws the blanket off of him. He rolls over until he’s dangling dangerously off the edge of the bed and reaches for the top drawer of his night stand. It takes a few tries, fingertips grazing the clear square knob four separate times before he gets a precarious grip on the rigid edges and slips it open. He blindly rifles through the drawer until he gets his hands on his most prized possession, the Satisfyer Pro 2:  _ Next Generation _ , and squeals. He doesn’t even bother to close the drawer again, just rolls back onto the bed, and has the briefest of mental back and forths with himself:

_ Do I need to clean it? Or can I just -- use it? _

_ I cleaned it last time. . . _

_ No. . . No, you’ve gotta clean it. It’s gross if you don’t. Don’t be gross. _

He finds himself groaning and rolling towards the edge of his bed again, but this time he lets himself fall off of it feet first. Even as he stands in front of his nightstand, he still refuses to actually look at what’s in the drawer, he just feels around and grabs what he expects to be toy cleaner, and heads to the bathroom. He doesn’t even bother to use hot water, just turns on the faucet, wets the rag, sprays the disinfectant, and goes about wiping it down. 

The more time he spends doing this silly little task the more put off he feels. There’s this slow but steady build up to how he felt before Doyoung came over; grumpy, huffy, stompy, whiny, overall childish. He hates masturbating because it’s  _ work _ . It’s all so fucking tedious. He goes through all these little steps: getting the toy, cleaning the toy, going back to bed, deciding whether or not he actually needs lube, and only  _ then _ can he actually use the damn thing. Not to mention all the stuff he’s supposed to do after too. In short, masturbating is adding to his annoyance for very little pay off but he’s horny and this is his only option.

He crawls back into bed and mechanically spreads his legs, ignoring the embarrassment that rushes through his system the more he exposes himself. He tests the waters first, using his index and middle finger to see how wet he is. They gently push against the seam of his pussy lips, face flushing a deeper red at the absolutely filthy squelching sound that accompanies the break through. He registers the brief rush of cold air hitting his cunt before his fingers seal the space. 

His lips gently hug the two digits before he pulls them away. He hears the soft, wet squelching again, and has to close his eyes to will away the humiliation. He can never keep his eyes open long when he does this, the knowledge that he’s this wet all on his own, with no help whatsoever, gets to him every time. Haechan can barely stand hearing it, but he certainly can’t  _ see _ it. So when he brings his fingers closer to his face, he embraces the darkness behind his eyelids and experimentally taps the two fingers against his thumb. He doesn’t have to watch to know the slick is thick and sticky, bunching and breaking apart between his fingers.

He feels it split recklessly down the middle, a small dollop landing on the path that connects his thumb to his index finger. It’s warm and kind of gross, but it’s enough of a sign that he doesn’t need lube, and that he’s as physically ready as he can get. 

He runs the tips of his fingers over his lips, the overly sweet scent of ripe strawberries practically punches him in the face. He slips his tongue out and gathers his fingers into his mouth. He moans at the feeling of having at least one of his holes filled. He pushes the digits as far back as they can go, and rolls the wet muscle around until he’s coated every inch of his mouth in his own arousal. He feels his heartbeat in his cunt when his fingertips hit the back of his throat, a soft gagging sound bouncing around the confines of his skull. He exhales roughly through his nose before he convinces himself to focus on the task at hand.    
  


The saccharine taste of strawberries clings to the inside of his mouth even after he pulls his fingers out.

Haechan slips his spit wet fingers back between his legs and gathers more slick around his finger tips. He slides his fingers into his hole, until he’s knuckle deep, and curls his fingers in a come hither motion. The pads of his fingers gently scrape his sensitive walls, and his knees knock in on themselves. They’re kissing at the caps and he doesn’t have it in him to try and pull them apart. For a while he’s content to just keep petting and rubbing, happy to be full in some way. 

But Haechan’s always been impatient, and he doesn’t have it in him to try and cum like this. If he wants to nut, he’ll have to use the toy, he’ll have to give up on mimicking being split open, he’ll spread his legs again.

He whimpers at the feeling of slowly spreading his legs again, the embarrassed flush all too familiar to him at this point. He allows himself a bit longer to just touch before he practically drags the digits out. He whines at the feeling of the viscous liquid spilling out of him as his hole clenches and winks begging for his fingers back, but he keeps going. His fingers are slippery and easily move through his own mess. He circles his clit, making sure to wet the sensitive bud. The brief contact has a small, stuttered breath pushing past his lips, and again, his ears burn at the sound.

His sounds. 

He hates listening to himself when he’s alone. It adds to the humiliation, and while he reasonably knows there’s nothing wrong with what he’s doing, it still always feels like a dirty little secret. So the moment he’s sure he won’t cause himself personal injury from being too dry, he places the toy between his lips, closes his legs, and rolls over. He buries his face in his pillow and shoves a hand between himself and the bed trying to get the silicon pocket to hug his clit perfectly. It takes some wiggling and pushing on the bulbous handle but he eventually finds it. 

Now for the fun part. 

Actually using it. 

Haechan has to bend his finger and an awkward angle, knuckle curling and harshly staying bent to put enough force on the power button to turn it on. He feels the button click in and the toy hums to life. Seconds later the random buzzing and puffs of air hit his clit and he helplessly deflates into the mattress, hips pressing down to get closer to the sensation. The rounded edges of the Satisfyer’s hood dig uncomfortably into the gentle skin of his cunt but it feels too good to try and do anything to make the positioning less painful. He rubs at the pillow he’s got his face buried in like a disgruntled cat, a high whine getting lost in the soft cotton of the case. 

The pulses are sporadic, and they feel so  _ strong _ , even if the settings are at their lowest. He’s always been sensitive, and the Satisfyer exploits it. It leaves his thighs trembling, stomach muscles spasming, and his hole clenching on air endlessly leaking. He feels the blood in his body rushing south, he’s hyper aware of how swollen his clit is, and how his puffy pussy lips are swallowing the head of the toy he has buried between the folds of his cunt. 

He’s so easily drawn in that he never even has time to think or fantasize about anyone or anything. He’s always so desperate to nut the second he turns the toy on that the concept of edging himself or extending the pleasure seems like an impossible feat. Even right now, in this moment, after already getting the immediate gratification with Doyoung, he can feel he’s close, and it hasn’t even been two minutes. 

His mouth is perpetually left open, tongue and teeth staining and tugging at the cloth of his pillow. The little noises, the cut off choked up moans, tinge his ears a deep scarlet no matter how hard he tries to muffle them. His hands are the only bit of himself that stay still, with an almost painful grip on the sheets beside his head.

It feels so good and the closer he gets the more taught his muscles get, the metaphorical and literal dam breaking what has to be only ten seconds later. He feels slick rush out of him staining his thighs and the bed below him. He leaves a matching stain on his pillow, mouth still just hanging open. His eyes are scrunched shut, head rocking slowly back and forth into his pillow. It feels like it takes forever but he releases the groan caught in his chest and lets himself sink further into his sheets. 

The toy hums away, tickling his clit in a way that’s not unenjoyable even if he is closing in on feeling over sensitive. If he let himself, he’s sure he could cum again. But he’s too tired to tempt fate and try for another one, so he brings his knees up, shuts the toy off, and flings it away from him. 

He allows himself a few minutes of blankness. He doesn’t move, or think, he just lays there with his face smashed into the pillow and breathes. It only when he turns his head to take breaths without the pillow in his way does he come back down to his current reality. The large wet spot on his pillow being the wake up call, leaving a gross wet kiss against his cheek. 

He pulls away and looks down at the stain he left behind and groans into his hands. All his thoughts are about the clean up; the toy, his sheets, his pillow, himself -- and how much he doesn’t want to do it.

It’s all so much and he just -- he just wants to go to bed.

Just this once. . . he’s going to be gross.

He flips the pillow over, curls in on himself, and promptly passes the fuck out.

**🍫**

When Haechan wakes up, he’s still alone. 

He stretches and groans like an oversized cat; back curling, cracking, and eventually relaxing into something calm and plain. He lays on his stomach, face smashed into his pillow, legs spread just enough that the cool air of the room hitting his cunt leaves him hyper aware of his earlier promiscuities. His lips are still wet and it’s just uncomfortable enough to make him vaguely commit to the idea of getting up and doing something about it. He groans again, legs sliding shut, and the sticky cold discomfort becomes a bit easier to ignore. 

His thoughts shift to food, Doyoung, and the food Doyoung promised him. Which all seem to not be in his immediate vicinity. He knows he’s alone, he can’t hear or smell anyone else, so if Doyoung did make good on his promise he didn’t stay long. He turns his head to the side, the new position forcing a pout onto his lips, and gives only one of his eyes the freedom to look around. His gaze bounces from the closed door, to the organized chaos of his desk, to the nightstand, and all of it looks the way it did before Doyoung left. 

So in short, and to his misery, there’s no cake in his room. 

The sound he lets out starts low and deep and escalates in both noise and dramatics, by time he runs out of air his voice is high and whiny and grating his own ears. He flails and kicks around, a childish frustration forcing the blankets further down the bed and the eventual realization that he’ll have to get up if he wants cake. 

He rolls onto his back, stares blankly at the ceiling, and contemplates the current state of his life. Because none of this would bother him nearly as much if he wasn’t in faux heat. The symptoms are tamer, he’s not down bad like he would be during an actual heat, but he still wants all the same shit he does as when he’s in the throws of heat. All he wants to do is eat, sleep, cuddle and get off. When he’s forced to do anything past that, he’s annoyed. He’s twitchy and whiny and aggressive and angry; and it settles in his bones only to bubble and spill over every time he’s minorly inconvenienced. So even if he’s already pissed off, he knows the only way to salvage his mood is to get up, leave his room, and go get cake. And that’s exactly what he does. In between all of that he goes to the bathroom because safe sex and masturbation practices are important and he really doesn’t want a UTI. 

He finds the cake sitting in the center of the table, and because Doyoung’s a nerd, there’s a useless note attached to the top: 

_ Cub, _

_ Here’s your cake. _

_ Doie. _

He would be lying if he said it didn’t make him smile, but it also made him roll his eyes because the nickname is dumb, writing a note for a cake that could only be his is dumb, and Doyoung signing off on a note that could only have come from him is dumb. But it was kind of cute, so if he keeps it, that’s no one's business but his own. 

He grabs a spoon, pops the top to the container, and scrapes the utensil around the edge of the cake. He watches the frosting curl and roll it’s way onto the spoon, slowly but surely covering every millimeter in the sweet topping. The chocolate scent tickles at his nose, mouth watering the longer he denies himself the perfect morsel of the rich sugar. When he can’t run his spoon along the edge any longer, it messily flicks off the edge and bounces between his fingers. The weight of the dollop of chocolate leaves the spoon unbalanced in his grip, tipping the rounded edge down like a seesaw. He has to use a little more force to tilt the sweetness closer to his lips, and swings it around until the back edge is facing him. When all he has left to do is stick his tongue out, he hums a sigh of content that fills the quiet corners of his small kitchen. He runs the tip of his tongue up the convex side of the spoon, the overly saccharine icing has his eyes rolling into the back of his head as it coats the tip of his tongue. When he reaches the tip he swirls his tongue to the concave side, and pushes the spoon back until there’s no more chocolate left for him to taste. When the spoon hits the back of his tongue, the thick frosting lines the walls of his throat and the moan he lets out his downright pornagraphic. 

The moment is ruined when Mark comes barreling in like the loud jackass he is. He chokes on the spoon when the front door is slammed open, making this horrific wet gagging sound before the spoon is safely resting on his tongue again. 

Mark practically skips into view, stops in front of the table, and in all his audacity, smiles at him, an annoying, “Sup,” leaving his mouth before plopping down into the chair opposite Haechan. 

He stares Mark down from his spot at the kitchen table, thumb coming up to wipe the honeyed paste away from the corner of his lip. He told himself that when Mark came back he would give him the silent treatment, but he’s never been good at denying himself the simple pleasure of a well timed smartass comment. 

“Oh, would you look at that? The whore’s home.”

Mark clutches his chest, a telenovela-worthy gasp accompanying a devastatingly twisted and hurt expression; because for as dramatic as Haechan is, Mark will always try to give him a run for his money, “Is that how you greet your long lost best friend? Your forever friend? Your  _ soulmate _ ?”

Haechan casually tips the spoon back and forth between his index finger and thumb. He’s not nearly as upset as he was when he first found out Mark left, but he’s still pretty ticked off, as the passive aggressive comment would suggest -- but it’s not worth holding a grudge. 

He’s willing to bury it under a joke.

“I lost you to dick. Not war.”

Mark laughs. It’s that ridiculous giggle Haechan has gotten so used to over their decades long friendship. It still makes him happy to hear it, still makes him smile without fail, the corners of his lips twitching up to his demise. “I know. I know -- not even gonna defend myself.” He pulls himself together, the quick bursts of laughter dying out almost quickly as it began, and says the one thing that will put this whole thing to bed, “I really am sorry I bailed on you for Johnny. I forgot that your faux heat started today.” And because Mark knows Haechan best, he willingly embarrasses himself for Haechan’s pure and simple enjoyment. He pitches forward, shoulders hunching in, hands clasping together, puppy eyes on full display, and raises his voice a full two octaves higher, “Does Hyuckie forgive Markiepoo?”

“I guess so.” Haechan reaches forward and thumbs Mark’s forehead. It’s not hard, it’s rather gentle, but it’s enough for Mark to tip himself back into his chair -- back to his side of the table. “But no complaining when I inevitably throw myself all over you the second we’re horizontal.”

“Hmmmm-kay.” 

Haechan hums in response and then goes back to his cake. He twirls the spoon so he’s holding it properly. The blunt edge hits the frosting, cuts through the layer of chocolate and hits the fluffy layer of cake hidden beneath. It’s then that Mark decides to violate the unspoken rule of this truce.

He speaks.

“Where did the cake come from?”

Not only does he speak, he asks a question. And Haechan feels that same irrational annoyance resurface. It’s something he can hide for now, his ruffled feathers bristling only slightly. But if Haechan knows Mark -- he’ll keep going. He’ll keep asking questions until there aren’t anymore questions to ask. And the only way to make it stop is to indulge him until his curiosity dies out. 

It’s not fair.

But if he’s forced to have this inane conversation, he’s gonna be a dick about it. 

“The store.”

Mark rolls his eyes, “Yeah of course the cake came from the fucking store. But I know you didn’t leave--”

“How do you know I didn’t leave?”

“Oh, come on, Donghyuck! You and I both know you would have had a meltdown if you had to leave the apartment for any reason. So, who brought you the cake?

“Your brother.”

Mark’s face twists up in confusion, and Haechan internally groans at the incoming line of questions. He doesn’t want to do this! He just wants to eat his fucking cake, but Mark is Mark. There isn’t a time where he just settles for the simple answer -- the easy out. He always just has to  _ know _ every damn thing, and it’s not like Haechan can tell him to fuck off, because that would be unreasoanble. 

“Why was Doyoung here?”

Haechan decides he’s gonna at least taste the cake before he deals with Mark. He shoves the delicacy past his lips and grumbles the words around the sticky food clinging to the roof of his mouth and tongue. “You know why he was here.” It’s genuinely disgusting that he’s talking with his mouth full of something so thick and sugary, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t do it because it would skeeve Mark out. 

He takes another self satisfied bite when he hears the discomfort in Mark’s voice. 

“I guess. . .” He trails off and Haechan thinks he might have just gotten lucky. That this might be over, but then the other omega is opening his mouth  _ again _ , and Haechan wonders if it would cross too far into dramatic territory if he cries.

“How did you convince him to buy you cake? And why was he here that long?”

The last bit sounds like a personal question, one not directed towards Haechan. It’s mumbled, and something he would have missed if there was any background noise besides the humming kitchen lights. 

He still chooses to answer it. 

“We took a nap, he accidentally woke me up, he bought me cake.” 

“Why did he take a nap?” Mark’s demeanor changes from simple curiosity to actual interest. His body language gives him away. He’s gone from relaxing in his chair to pressing himself against the table, eyes firmly focused on Haechan’s own. “And why was he napping with you?”

“I was tired. He offered to stay.”

The reasoning behind their nap briefly flickers through his mind, and the blush comes embarrassingly quick. The heat flushes his cheeks, and he’s positive his face is red. If Mark notices, he says nothing. 

Probably labeling it a symptom.

“Since when is he so accommodating?”

“He’s always been accommodating.”

Mark scoffs, “No, he hasn’t. Doyoung never gives in easily.”

“If you say so.” Haechan shrugs and goes back to digging in for the next bite. Mark falls silent again. Long enough to convince Haechan that this is the end of this god forsaken conversation, but he once again got his hopes up way too soon. 

“Fuck you mean ‘ _ if I say so _ ?’!”

“Exactly what I fucking said. He’s  _ your _ brother. I’m not gonna sit here and argue with you about this.”

“I mean, sure, but like. . . since fucking  _ when _ ?

“I can’t speak for him, Mark.” He can’t help himself, he gives Mark his best:  _ Are you fucking serious? look, _ “And I just told you, I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Well, yeah. . .” Mark must sense the impending explosion gearing up on the other side of the table because he stops again. He looks away and drums his fingers against the pale blond wood of their kitchen table, the constant questions coming to a halt. They sit in silence, Haechan freely shoving another spoonful of cake in his mouth. He thinks he’s in the clear (again) but then the rhythmic tapping stops just as abruptly as it started. Haechan flicks his eyes over to Mark and sees the exact moment the omega tossed self preservation aside to ask yet another question. He draws himself back in his chair as if to put enough space between himself and Haechan, in case the latter does choose violence.

“But why?”

Haechan outright groans, “ _ Mark! _ ” He elongates the “A” and the final consonant is dripping in aggravation. 

He can’t even  _ begin _ to deny that his faux heat is fucking with his resolve. He’s beyond impatient, easily irritated, and there is absolutely no valid reason why this particular line of questioning has him so ready to strangle the platonic love of his life. But by  _ God _ , does choking the shit out of Mark sound amazing right now. 

“What’s going to end this conversation, huh? Do you need to hear about my entire fucking day?! Do you want to hear about your brother finger fucking me on our arm chair and taking a post-coital nap?! Or can we just shut the fuck up and eat the goddamn cake?!”

There’s this heavy silence that takes over them. It's not awkward, or uncomfortable, or painful -- it’s just heavy. Whatever happens next feels important. That if this goes wrong, they'll be fixing it for far longer than it took to fuck it up. 

So, Haechan takes another spoonful of cake, because maybe if they ignore it, things will be fine. 

He should have known Mark would never take the easy route. 

"Damn. . . could have just said you didn't wanna fucking talk."

"Mother _ fucker-- _ " But then he sees that annoyingly endearing giggle building in Mark's chest, and it takes everything in him not to launch himself across the table. 

“'I’m sorry, I'm sorry, okay.” It comes out almost incoherent because of that ridiculous laugh, it sounds just as happy and idiotic as it's always been, and again, Haechan fails to keep the scowl on his face, a smile tugging at his lips. "And you did not have to pull out the 'I fucked your brother' storyline line to get me to stop -- you’re better than that. I would have settled for just the offer of cake." 

Haechan pushes the spoon through the layer of frosting and cake. It’s all he’s got right now. The only thing he can do to mask his disbelief. Maybe he was being too. . .  _ presumptuous _ , but he wasn’t expecting this. Out of all the ways he imagined this going, none of them included blatant disregard. He imagined anger, acceptance, happiness, a handful of other reactions, but not the version he’s living through now. 

The one where Mark thinks he’s lying.

Mark leans forward for the spoonful of cake, mouth open and waiting, letting out an obnoxious  _ ahhhh _ as he closes in on the spoon. When he gets close enough for the frosting to hit his lip, Haechan pulls it just out of reach. 

“Why’d you call it a storyline?”

Mark shrugs, eyes still focused on the cake rather than Haechan, “Because you and Doyoung are a cosmic joke.”

He’s not  _ offended _ so much as his curiosity’s been peaked, because what does Mark see that they’re not? What does Mark understand that he doesn’t? And why can’t he wrap his head around Mark’s words?

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you see it that way?”

Mark shrugs and slumps back into his seat, “Dude, you spend more time arguing than getting along.” He scoots the chair out from under the table and closer to Haechan, the wood making this ugly scraping sound across the floor. “I don’t see how you could stop trying to one up each other long enough to even consider the idea.”

“Huh. . .” Haechan eats the long awaited mouthful of cake. Mark pouts as he watches Haechan chew. They hold eye contact, until Haechan looks away to dig the spoon in for another one. He holds it up to Mark’s mouth, the metal edge kissing Mark’s thin pink lips, but before he can close his mouth around it he pulls back again. He keeps his tone light, joking almost. . .

But he’s dead serious. 

“So, if I said I wanted to suck Doyoung’s dick, you wouldn’t believe me?”

It even sounds ridiculous in his own ears. Had you asked him yesterday, he would have had to think about it. Eventually, he would have settled on yes. Doyoung’s hot and he’s not gonna lie about it just to lie about it. But now -- now he  _ knows _ he not only wants to do it, but that he will. He has every intention of getting Doyoung to skull fuck him some time soon. Now, it’s a matter of fact, a question of when rather than if.

But that only makes sense to him.

Mark, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to fully comprehend the gravity of the question, the situation, or the circumstances he’s unknowingly stumbled into. All he does is smile. It’s crooked and cocky, the smugness working its way from his lips to his eyes. He looks like the cat that got the cream.

Dangerously overly satisfied. 

“Nope.”

Then he’s snapping his jaw shut around his prize. 

The spoon sits in Mark’s mouth. 

The conversation ends.

And Haechan realizes Mark’s blind to the cards he just laid on the table.

🍓

**Author's Note:**

> The dohyuck tag was empty so this happened, and at this point I'm willing to fill several pages by myself. I'll expand on the tags as the I go on because more people and storylines get introduced. If you wanna talk to me about this or other Haechan centric fics I'm here:  
> [@toffeehyuck](https://twitter.com/toffeehyuck)  
> [@curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/toffeehyuck)


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